


Gratitude

by IamShadow21, kath_ballantyne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Cross-Generation Relationship, Hogwarts, M/M, Not Underage, One Night Stands, POV First Person, POV Remus Lupin, Time Travel, Time Turner, Wandless Magic, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-07
Updated: 2007-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kath_ballantyne/pseuds/kath_ballantyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus spends an evening with someone during his first week as a teacher at Hogwarts. <i>Set September 1993.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> Just to get it out of the way, so everyone knows, **this is NOT chan in any way.**
> 
> This plotbunny came from the answer I gave to a question on a meme that went round today, and more than one person saying they'd like to see the fic if I ever wrote it.
> 
> Prompt: _11) What kind of plot would you use if you wanted Four to de-flower One?_
> 
>  
> 
> _(Neville/Remus) Erm…I think it’d have to involve badass!Neville and a Timeturner. Maybe some kind of thank you for the Boggart lesson…_
> 
>  
> 
> And it isn't a de-flowering in the traditional sense, but it's close enough, as far as I'm concerned.
> 
>  
> 
> Banner art by kath-ballantyne 

As the last, chattering student leaves the staff room, I collapse into an arm chair. The lesson had been exhausting, exciting and hilarious in turns as each child stepped forward to face his or her worst fear. Harry’s obvious misery at being excluded nagged at me though, souring the pleasant mood I’d been in.

I didn’t have long to brood. A young man I don’t recognise strides in, gives me a fleeting smile and drops heavily into the chair opposite mine. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back and stretching his long legs out in front of him, letting out a deep sigh.

I feel a flicker of interest in the pit of my stomach, oddly foreign but familiar at the same time. The stranger is around twenty-five, no older, and his limbs have a glowing, golden tan as though he lives somewhere warm, or spends much of his time outdoors. His sleeves are pushed roughly up past his elbows, and I can see that though he isn’t bulky, he is muscular, and his hands are broad and strong.

Mentally I begin remonstrating myself for ogling the stranger. _What are you, fifteen? The least you could do is demonstrate_ some _self-control._

I glance at his face then and realise with a jolt that he is watching me.

“Forgive me,” I begin in a rush. “My mind was elsewhere. I’m Remus. I don’t believe we’ve met, yet.”

I lean forward, extending my hand in greeting, and he shuffles up in his seat to stretch out and take it in his own, firm grip.

“Call me Nev,” he says, with a slow smile, and I notice his eyes are very blue and his hair is dark and shaggy, ending in loose curls and waves where it brushes his shoulders. His face seems familiar somehow, but I don’t dwell on it. The wizarding world is a fairly small one, and if he is pure blooded there is a good chance that he is closely related to a number of my students.

“So, what’s your subject?” I ask, casually. “They’ve not brought you in as my replacement have they? I can’t have made that much of a mess in the first week, surely.”

 _Good Lord, Moony, are you_ flirting?

He gives an easy laugh. “No, you’re safe for now. I’m not a teacher at all, not yet. I’ve been doing a bit of work in the Greenhouses, looking at my options. You know.”

“Pomona’s not thinking about retirement is she?” I ask, with a little frown. 

“No, not for a long while, as far as I know. But it’s never too early to express an interest. Better too early than too late.”

There is something in his tone that makes me think he’s not really taking about the Herbology position anymore, but before I can wonder what he might mean by it, he suddenly asks: “Would you like to come to the Three Broomsticks with me? I could do with a pint, and some company while I drink it.”

Though it’s an abrupt request, I find myself agreeing and walking with him to Hogsmeade. On the lazy stroll down and over a hearty pub meal and a few glasses of mead I am pleased to find the conversation flows smoothly and freely between us. He regales me with tales of his adventures in the jungles of South America and Africa looking for rare plant specimens, and coaxes me to tell some stories of my own, which he listens to avidly.

By the time we leave to take the long walk back to the school, I am slightly giddy with more than just the alcohol, and when he curves his arm around my waist and pulls me close to kiss me, I don’t resist. Leaning in to press my lips to his, I can see the slight flush in his cheeks from the drink and a tracing of fine scars there, as if from a blade. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder what made them, but it’s only a passing thought that is swept away by the increasing urgency of our kisses, the rising passion in our embrace.

“I…it…it’s been a long time, since I…” I stammer apologetically, when we break the kiss to catch our breath.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, and there’s a touch of sadness in his voice.

“No,” I say firmly, pulling him close again.

The moment I shut the door to my chambers, we’re fumbling with each other’s clothing. I’m so nervous I feel like I might be sick, and it’s disconcerting that just over a decade of sexual abstinence has made me so uncertain. It’s like losing my virginity all over again.

Our hands are exploring each other’s skin in the semi-dark, his fingers tracing my map of scars as though taking wandering journeys of their own. If he wonders how I came to have so many he doesn’t ask. Instead he continues that light but needy discovery of my flesh as we lie down on the bed.

“So…how are we going to do this?” I ask awkwardly.

“I’m easy,” he says lazily, his eyes seeming to glow a little in the faint light.

I lean in and kiss him harder and deeper than before, pressing him back until he’s lying under me, gripping me tight to him. I can feel his cock pressing up against me, hot and hard, and my body rocks against it instinctively. 

The kiss breaks as we gasp sharply in unison, and I’m trembling as I lean forward to press my lips to his neck and murmur in his ear, “I want to fuck you.”

The crudity feels coarse and foreign in my mouth after so long, but it has the desired effect because he moans - a desperate, needy sound – and presses hard up into me. One last kiss, one little nip of his earlobe, and I pull back and sit back on my heels. My wand is back near the door somewhere, tangled in my discarded robes, but no matter. With one gesture and I cast a Protective Charm. Another, and my left hand becomes slick with lubricant.

“Wow,” he murmurs, a little shocked at the display of wandless magic. “That’s impressive.”

I give him a crooked smile. “I’m rubbish at Potions, if it makes you feel any better.”

He grins back. “Me too.”

He’s lying there, naked below, me, completely vulnerable, and I lick my lips hungrily. “Spread your legs,” I say, my voice suddenly hoarse. 

I settle myself between his thighs, his knees over my shoulders, and slip a slick digit inside him, fingering him gently. Every second or third thrust I angle to brush his prostate, and he twitches and gasps with each electric pulse.

“’M ready,” he pants, not very long after, and I don’t need any further invitation. I’m almost painfully hard, aching for release, and sheathing myself inside his body inch by inch nearly undoes me altogether. 

After a long moment of waiting, gathering up all the scattered threads of my self control, I begin to move and both of us swear colourfully in voices made deep and raw with arousal. We rock slowly at first, a teasing, gentle friction, but it escalates notch by notch until I’m pounding into him hard, my hand frantically stroking his cock. 

Everything is a blinding rush of sweat and sound and the unbearable intensity of flesh on flesh, flesh in flesh. I can feel my orgasm building in me like a storm cloud, and when I come, it jolts through me like a lightning bolt, dragging a cry of abandon from the very pit of my stomach. I’m distantly aware of his deep groan, and his come coating my fingers as he clenches around me, wringing out one last throb of pleasure from my body before I collapse across his chest like a puppet with its strings cut.

I’m panting every breath, gulping oxygen, and my racing heart is thudding in my chest as though it’s trying to escape. His limp fingers are stroking my cheek, my hair, my back, and it’s possibly minutes before I realise there’s something digging into the side of my face; a chain or a necklace of some sort. I reach up to touch it, and his hand grabs my wrist in an iron grip.

“Don’t touch that,” he whispers with an edge of warning.

Something in his voice makes me push myself up off him and look down. Look down at the little hourglass lying so innocently on his skin.

“ _Who_ are you?” I ask, my voice hard, my eyes burning into those of the man beneath me, whose face is suddenly grave and still. “Who are you _really?_ Don’t lie to me. What you saw before might have looked like a party trick, but I assure you I can hex just as well as I can charm without my wand.”

“I told you my name,” he says quietly in reply.

_Nev._

_Neville._

My last class of the day flashes before my eyes, and I suddenly see the features of the round-faced schoolboy on the man beneath me. The man he has become.

“What…what _is_ this?” I ask, numb with shock and confusion.

“I never thanked you,” he says, his voice regretful. “I never thanked you for what you did for me then. Today. You showed me what I could be, showed me that I could do more than I ever thought I was capable of.”

He runs one of his strong but gentle hands from my hair down to cup my cheek. “I wanted to see you, to give you an evening of happiness if I could, to repay you. I didn’t expect _this_ …but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t hoping for it.”

I have no words, but I know that regrets and guilt, if they come, will come in the morning when he winds the Time Turner forward again and I am alone. For now, Neville pulls me down into another tender and slow kiss then cradles me against his chest, and I cling to the bitter sweetness of this fleeting moment in time.


End file.
